


The Florist

by Persiflage



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Canon Divergence Post Battle of New York, Daisy's Scooter Makes a Return, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Inspired By Tumblr, Language of Flowers, Mentions of Jemma/Bobbi, Mentions of Meldrew, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Phil Coulson, Phil Coulson is a Sensitive Guy, Slow Build, byebyehiatus, not Lincoln friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 20:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8027662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: AU: Post Battle of New York, Phil Coulson retired from SHIELD to run a florist shop. One day he meets Daisy and she turns his life upside down.





	The Florist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zauberer_sirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/gifts), [RowboatCop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/gifts), [BrilliantlyHorrid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantlyHorrid/gifts), [nausicaa_of_phaeacia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/gifts).



> Inspired by [this post](http://badrowboats.tumblr.com/post/150316929859/flower-shop-au) on Tumblr, which several of the Skoulson shippers immediately fell in love with.
> 
> This was written in a post-migraine haze, so it's not as long as I wanted to make it (and may not make as much sense as I think!), but hopefully it meets people's needs until someone else writes a better one.

Phil Coulson is enjoying his post-death retirement from SHIELD running a little flower shop where nothing more exciting ever happens beyond the occasional stricken husband or boyfriend coming in at almost closing time, desperate for a bouquet that's pretty much an afterthought for a birthday or anniversary they've forgotten until the eleventh hour. He doesn't mind – he enjoys the mild drama, but he mostly enjoys the peace and quiet. And he's gained quite a few repeat customers who've been pleased and impressed by his selections.

So he's more than a little startled when an angry-looking young woman storms into his shop one afternoon, slaps $20 down on the counter, and demands "How do I passive-aggressively say 'fuck you' in flower?"

He is torn between alarm at how angry she seems, and amusement by the detail of the request, but he keeps both reactions to himself as he comes around the counter and heads towards the buckets of flowers.

"You'll need a bouquet of geraniums for stupidity, yellow carnations for 'you have disappointed me', meadowsweet for uselessness, foxgloves for insincerity, and orange lilies for hatred," he tells her, deftly assembling the blooms as he speaks.

She's leaning back against the counter, her elbows propped behind her, watching him as he works. He sneaks glances at her from the corner of his eye, taking in the long brown hair with bangs almost falling into her big brown eyes, which are practically sparking with her anger; the white tank top and black jeans; and the motorcycle boots. He'd guess she's around 30 – or maybe that's just the eyes that make her seem older – behind the anger, there's a sense of her having seen more than she should.

"Cute apron, by the way," she says as he carries the assembled flowers back across to the counter.

"Um, thanks," he says, glancing down at the item in question. It reads 'I'm a florist, that means I live in a crazy fantasy world with unrealistic expectations. Thank you for understanding.' "It was a gift from my friends when I took early retirement from my previous career, and bought this place."

She smiles, and the transformation of her face is almost dazzling, he thinks. He drags his gaze from her and concentrates on the niceties of putting the bouquet together for her. 

"They're obviously people with a good sense of humour," she says.

He nods. "Do you want to write a card for this?" he asks tentatively. "And am I delivering it or are you taking it with you?"

"I'll take it," she tells him. "No card. My shitty, asshole, about to be ex-boyfriend doesn't deserve a card."

He nods again, then holds out the bouquet. "I'd wish you luck, but I somehow don't think you'll need it."

She snorts. "He should be grateful I'm only giving him a bunch of flowers and not a bunch of fives."

He feels his eyebrows go up, and she shakes her head. "Don't worry, I'm not going to assault him – he's not worth the hassle that would ensue."

"Okay." He takes her money and rings up the sale, and she gives him a nod, then strides out, and he almost pities the 'about to be ex' boyfriend, but only almost.

DJ-PC-DJ-PC-DJ

One morning a few days later, he's trying to juggle the keys to the door of his shop along with a paper bag containing an almond croissant and his usual go cup of coffee, when a voice hails him.

"Here, let me get that for you," says the young woman, and after a moment, he realises it's his customer with the 'fuck you' bouquet from the other day. He almost didn't recognise her as she's cut her hair quite short in the interim.

"Uh, thanks," he says, surrendering his breakfast so he can unlock the door. "Just give me a sec to hit the alarm."

She nods amiably, and waits while he crosses to the corner where the alarm is almost out of sight. It cuts out and he immediately feels his usual sense of relief when it's silenced.

He turns around and his customer's already strolled inside and heading for the counter where she sets down his coffee and croissant.

"I stopped by to say thanks," she tells him as he moves behind the counter, lifting the hinged flap that separates his area from the customer area.

"You're welcome," he says, "but you really didn't have to."

She smirks. "Well, I wanted to – especially since Lincoln, that's the ex by the way, was more than a bit gobsmacked when I explained to him the meaning of each of the flowers in the bouquet."

"You remembered them all?" he asks, mildly impressed.

"Sure," she says casually. "I've got a very good memory."

"I'm glad it proved effective," he tells her sincerely.

"So effective," she assures him, grinning. She digs her cell phone from her jeans pocket, taps it a couple of times, then passes it to him, "My friends Jemma and Bobbi were there for backup, and Bobbi took a photo of Lincoln's face."

He looks down, and has to fight back laughter, because the young man really does look gobsmacked. 

"I'm glad you had backup," he tells her, smiling as he hands the cell back.

"So, I wondered if you wanted to go for a drink?"

Coulson can't help it, he just gapes at her, sure his face must mirror the ex-boyfriend's because he definitely feels gobsmacked.

"I – uh – " he stutters, flustered and incapable of his usual eloquence. "Why?"

She does an exaggerated double-take. "Why not?"

"Well, I suppose there's no reason why not," he concedes.

"Good. Six o'clock tonight okay?"

"Um, yes. Thank you."

She nods. "My name's Daisy, by the way."

He raises an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

She smirks and holds out a hand. "Daisy Johnson," she tells him.

"Phil Coulson."

"I'll see you tonight at 6, then, Phil. I'll come and pick you up."

He nods, and is relieved that she doesn't seem to expect any more of a response as he feels peculiarly tongue-tied.

He's already locked up and is standing outside the shop when 6 o'clock rolls around, and Daisy rides up on a motor scooter – it's white and mint green, and her helmet matches the scooter's colour scheme. He shakes his head slightly, a bit disbelieving, then walks across to her as she holds out a coral pink helmet.

"Sorry about the colour," she says as he accepts the helmet from her. "It's actually my room mate's, and Jemma's pretty fond of pink."

"It's fine," he assures her. He doesn't bother telling her that he actually likes the colour pink.

He settles the helmet in place, then gets onto the scooter behind her and once she's sure he's seated securely, she sets off. He tries not to think too much about how comfortable he already feels holding Daisy. He's got 20 years on her, at least, and he's not a lecherous older man, but there's no denying that he's been lonely the last two years since his death effectively terminated his already-cooling relationship with his then girlfriend Audrey. 

(Long distance relationships are never easy, and with his erratic hours as a SHIELD agent, not to mention all the secrecy surrounding his work, and with Audrey's frequent trips here, there, and everywhere else with the orchestra, they hadn't been seeing that much of each other during the year before Loki's spear stabbed through his heart and killed him. Melinda and Andrew have tried to set him up with a handful of people since then, but although he'd dutifully gone along on the double dates, his heart hadn't been in it, so they'd stopped.)

They have more than one drink, but stop at three, and Coulson's only mildly surprised at how easy it is to talk to Daisy, despite the age gap. When she reveals that she's also an orphan, he has to rein in his emotions so she doesn't think he's weird.

"You're not going to ride your scooter home, are you?" he asks when they leave the bar. 

She raises an eyebrow at him. "Phil, I'm not even tipsy, never mind drunk."

He flushes, embarrassed at sounding too paternal. "I beg your pardon, Daisy," he says, rather stiffly. "I – "

"Phil." She cuts him off, and startles him yet again, by wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him. His arms seem to circle her body automatically, without any conscious decision on his part.

They hold each other for several minutes, and he tries not to weep when she releases him. He can't remember the last time someone simply held him, and it's a bit horrifying to realise how unused to physical contact he's grown. Not that he was ever excessively a touchy-feely type, but he touched people more than he does now.

"Come on, I'll give you a ride home," she tells him, and pecks him on the cheek before she pulls away.

He ducks his head, brushing at non-existent lint on his polo shirt to hide his feelings. He's not sure what to make of it, though, when she grabs his hand and holds it as they walk the short distance around to the back of the bar where she left her scooter. He's just decided he really likes holding Daisy's hand when she stops in order to grab their helmets. He's pathetic, he decides as he settles the helmet on his head: a sad, pathetic loser.

When they reach Phil's apartment block, Daisy asks, sounding surprisingly shy, "Hey, Phil, can I – uh – borrow your bathroom before I head home."

"Of course," he says immediately, and leads the way inside.

As he unlocks his door, he finds himself grateful for his habitual tidiness, knowing there'll be none of the usual bachelor existence mess to embarrass her: his apartment is clean, tidy (possibly anally so, he finds himself thinking), and organised. As he directs her to the bathroom, he finds himself wondering if it looks sterile, despite the flowers – not just the actual physical blooms in vases around the apartment, but also the flowery décor. He's tried to keep it subtle and tasteful, rather than over the top, but it's pretty clear at first glance that he's a man who likes flowers.

He's in the kitchen adding coffee to the coffee filter when Daisy reappears. "Nice digs, Phil," she says, and her cheerful tone and expression reassure him that she's sincere.

"Thanks," he says. "You – uh – you want a coffee before you head back?"

"Sure," she says easily, and he's relieved that she accepts. Then he reminds himself not to get his hopes up – reminds himself of the 20 or more year age gap between them. Why on earth would she be interested in dating a former SHIELD agent turned florist.

She wanders over to the windowsill, and picks up and sets down a few of his pots of herbs that are growing there. "You should be in a house in the country with an acre of land," she tells him when she turns back around.

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Should I?"

"Sure. I mean, you're the most-green-fingered guy I've ever met. I like it." She moves closer to where he's standing. "I like you." She puts her arms around his neck again and this time it's not a peck on the cheek, but a full on kiss, her lips soft and supple on his. He tries not to moan, but it slips out anyway, and she smiles against his mouth, then eases his mouth open, and kisses him properly.

Time seems to stand still while they're kissing, and when she finally pulls away, she rests her forehead on his, and mutters, "Wow." He'll admit that it makes him smirk just a bit, something he doesn't bother to hide when she moves a bit further back.

"Mr Smug," she teases, and his smirk turns into a full blown grin.

"I made you say 'Wow'," he points out, and she pouts, then reels him in for a second kiss, this time wrapping her arms around his upper back. Eventually her arms drop lower, and then she's got her hands on his ass and is pressing his body against hers.

"Daisy," he gasps as his embarrassingly hard cock pushes against her thigh.

"Phil." She squeezes his ass, and he'd swear his cock gets harder in response. "I really like you a lot," she says, which he'd figured – the kissing and ass-squeezing's a bit of a giveaway, he feels. "But I'm not gonna fuck you tonight."

"I wasn't – I didn't – " 

"Shh." She lifts a hand and places a finger over his lips. "I know you weren't expecting that. I'm _really_ good at reading people, okay? I want to have sex with you – possibly more than that, but I want to get to know you better first. It seems to me you're the kind of guy who'd be into that."

"Yeah," he says, aware that his cock is throbbing in his pants, and knowing that he'll have to take care of himself once she's gone.

"Good." She draws her finger across his lips and he can't help darting out his tongue to touch it. "Fuck, Phil." She groans quietly, then presses her finger against his mouth and he allows his lips to part so she can slide her finger inside. She groans more loudly when he sucks on it, and he wonders if he's going to come in his pants.

Eventually she pulls her finger free with a wet pop, then says, "So, a date? At the weekend?"

"I'd like that," he tells her, hoping he doesn't sound too eager. Then he thinks about her finger in his mouth and decides he shouldn't be worrying about sounding eager.

"Good. I'll pick you up at 10 on Saturday morning."

"Okay."

"Good boy." She whispers the words, a silly expression on her face, then she leans in and kisses him again, and he can't help tightening his arms around her.

After a few minutes she pulls away, then brushes her thumb down his nose. "I'll see myself out. See you on Saturday."

"I look forward to it," he says, and she grins, and then she's gone.

He abandons his coffee and heads to the bathroom for a shower; he needs to take care of his raging hard on before he does anything else.

DJ-PC-DJ-PC-DJ

Over the next two months they spend weekends visiting parks and gardens in and around LA, and further afield, and they have dinner or just a drink together around the middle of the week. Daisy introduces him to her housemate, Jemma, and her girlfriend Bobbi, and the next week the four of them have dinner together at Coulson's. A couple of weeks after that he takes her to Melinda and Andrew's for their 4th of July barbecue, and he discovers that Melinda had actually given up hope of him ever dating again, which amuses him more than it probably should.

They go back to his apartment that evening, full of laughter and a little bit tipsy, and they're barely inside the door before Daisy's pressing him against the wall and kissing him hungrily. Her hand slides down his body and he groans loudly when she cups his half-hard cock through his baseball shorts.

"Phil, I want you," she mutters, and he moans in agreement, and then her hand's inside his shorts, cupping his rapidly thickening cock, and he pulls his mouth from hers to say, "Bed."

"Mmhmm." She's stroking him firmly and he fears he's going to come on the spot.

"Please, Daisy." He's begging her, but he doesn't care that he's begging her – he's too old to fuck against a wall.

"Say that again," she hisses, her hand stilling at the base of his cock.

"Please, Daisy. Please let me take you to bed."

"Yeah," she breathes. "I like a guy who can beg."

She leads him through the apartment to his bedroom, and as soon as they're in his room, she begins to strip him between frantic, biting kisses. Then she tumbles him onto the bed, and strips off her own clothes, revealing that she's not wearing a bra under her tank (which he'd suspected), and a pair of lilac panties with a damp spot on the crotch beneath her own shorts.

"Condoms're in the drawer," he manages to get out, and she grins at him, then opens the drawer in the nightstand and pulls out the pack.

"Good boy, Phil." She deftly rolls the sheath onto his dick, then clasps the base of it. "You okay with me on top?"

"Oh god, yes," he says fervently, which makes her laugh, which goes straight to his cock making it throb in her hand. 

She lifts herself up, then lowers herself down again, and he moans embarrassingly loudly when she sinks down onto him.

"Fuck, Daisy, you're so tight."

"Actually, Phil, I think it's 'cos you're so big," she says, sounding a bit breathless. She squeezes her muscles around his cock, and he prays he's not going to shoot off too soon and ruin things.

He holds onto her hips as she rides him hard and fast, and as he thrusts urgently upwards he wonders if she'd consider staying the night. He doesn't want to make assumptions.

She climaxes with a loud cry, and nearly falls off him, but his hands keep her steady, and then she's moving again, and he knows he's not going to last much longer.

"Yes, Phil. Yes. Good boy." Her praise is what sends him over the edge, and realises as she comes a second time, that he's crying, which really just proves he's pathetic.

She sprawls out on top of him, her left arm sliding under his shoulders, and she brushes his tears from his cheek with her right thumb as her hand cups his cheek.

"You okay, Phil?" she asks, her tone tender.

"Yeah," he says, trying to control himself.

"Hey, if crying makes you feel better, don't stop on my account," she says. She presses a kiss to his brow, then thumbs more tears from his face.

She caresses his face and neck as the emotional storm wracks him, and he's relieved, once it's over, to see no hint of either pity or disgust in her eyes.

"You know, Phil, you're one of the most sensitive and caring guys, hell one of the most sensitive and caring people, I've ever met, and you don't have to feel bad about getting emotional over having sex." She leans down and settles her head on his shoulder. "I've never been with a guy like you before. You're, like, the least toxic man I've ever met, and it makes a refreshing change, especially after Lincoln."

He swallows, then says, "You've never said precisely what he did to earn that bouquet."

She snorts. "No, I didn't." She sighs. "He was forever belittling me. Made light of stuff I'd been through. Accused me of hacking my way through life. He had serious anger management issues, and I stupidly thought I could fix him."

"It's not the job of any woman to fix a man," he tells her immediately, because that really is an awful toxic trope.

"Yeah, I know. I mean, I know that now." She shifts her head and nuzzles his throat, and he almost cries again at the tenderness of this gesture.

"Would you like to stay tonight?" he asks softly after a few minutes of silent snuggling.

"Yeah, I would. Thanks." She lifts her head and kisses him, soft and sweet. "I think I'd like to shower."

"Make yourself at home, Daisy," he says, perhaps a shade too earnestly.

"Will you join me?"

He chuckles, and she frowns. "I fear you may have unrealistic expectations of what a man of my age can achieve."

She rolls her eyes. "I'm not asking you to fuck me in the shower, Phil – at least not now." She smirks when his eyes widen at her words. "I just wanna shower with you."

"Okay."

"Good." She pulls her body off his, and he bites back a whine of regret. Then she grabs his hand and tugs. "C'mon, Phil, we can wallow later."

He lets her lead him from his bed to the shower, and as they step into the cubicle together, he finds himself wondering just what he's done to deserve the gift of Daisy Johnson in his life.


End file.
